


higher fire

by orphan_account



Category: VIXX
Genre: Jealousy, M/M, Possessive Behavior
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-17
Updated: 2015-07-17
Packaged: 2018-04-09 18:55:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,194
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4360517
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>written for an anon on ask.fm who requested possessive taek and submissive hongbin.</p>
            </blockquote>





	higher fire

It was a game they’d played a hundred times before: Hongbin’s favorite. He was sat at the bar with his shoulder pressed hard to Wonsik’s own, leaned over with his breath tickling Wonsik’s neck—Taekwoon knew too well how it felt to have Hongbin’s mouth that close to his pulse, how warm his breath always was—and his hair had fallen over his eyes, rose colored cheeks flushed from the three tonics he’d had to drink—all paid for with Taekwoon’s credit card. And he knew what would happen if he took the empty seat beside Hongbin’s own; how he’d turn and shift his body away to further the barrier between them, and he’d move closer to Wonsik, tempt him with a whisper that Wonsik knew not to return, but maybe he’d play a long—just a little bit. Push the hair off Hongbin’s forehead and touch his neck, maybe offer to buy a drink he knew Hongbin would refuse, because this wasn’t the first time Wonsik’s been the third piece of their game, and it seemed: he didn’t really mind.  
  
Curl of his fingers and the quickening of his pulse throbbing hard in his head; Taekwoon took the seat despite knowing better and ordered a drink he didn’t really want. Then: leaning away, leaning on the counter, he looked in the glass and watched as the soda bubbles popped soundlessly, a film of carbonation atop something mixed with tequila, and he almost asked what was in the glass, but thought better of it: downed it anyway, and felt the burn all the way into his stomach. He didn’t give a warning, not even a glance, before he laid his hand high up on Hongbin’s thigh, and he felt the tension there, saw how Hongbin’s shoulders squared just slightly. Taekwoon squeezed his hand hard so he knew Hongbin felt it, and there was the jerk of Hongbin’s leg, shift in the muscles beneath his skin, and he made a sound—not a moan, not really a whimper—just a sound so wholly  _Hongbin_  as Taekwoon thrummed his fingers against the inner seam of his jeans. Then: slow pull, tickle of fingers through fabric too thick; he brushed his hand over Hongbin’s crotch and ran his palm slowly down the length of his leg, rest it on Hongbin’s knee. And smiling, pleased with himself, he removed his hand and left the bar.  
  
To the bathroom where he surveyed himself in the mirror: dark hair dampened with sweat and deep circles beneath his eyes. He could feel the drink turning in his stomach, legs not quite weakened but getting there; and he knew it was time to leave, but also knew if he left Hongbin wouldn’t follow, not unless Taekwoon made sure he did. So: back into the bar, Taekwoon: pretending to be interested in the bodies near him, the press of heat against his skin; he didn’t notice the sweat on his neck, but he noted the lack of space between Hongbin and Wonsik—and there it was: something not quite like anger biting at the back of his mouth. Quickened pace like he was late for work, shouldering past those who wouldn’t move out of his way, to push an arm between Hongbin and Wonsik’s bodies, shoving himself where he didn’t fit. He said to the bartender, ‘I need the tab,’ and paid what was left on it. Then, turning to Wonsik, ‘We’ll talk to you later.’ He hooked an arm around Hongbin’s middle, and pulled him from the chair, through the bar, out into the sweltering night where cigarette smoke hung like smog under yellowed street lamps.  
  
Hongbin was smiling; Taekwoon scoffed, turned away.  
  
‘You were well behaved,’ Hongbin told him, mockery loud in his tone; and his mouth was just beside Taekwoon’s ear, hand somewhere tugging at the back of his shirt. Taekwoon would have moved away had he felt he could.  
  
'I don’t understand you,’ he said.  
  
Hongbin, mouth pinched to hide his delight, 'Yes you do, hyung.’  
  
They hailed a cab with stained fabric interior, windows down but no A/C;  _The Kinks_  played on the radio, melodic and soothing. Hongbin laid his head in the crook of Taekwoon’s neck; snuggled close and closer until Taekwoon put his hand on his leg again, brushing carefully over clothed skin; and Hongbin, shivering, hooked both legs over Taekwoon’s lap.  
  
'I like when you do that,’ Hongbin breathed out.  
  
'I know,’ Taekwoon said, running his hand up one thigh, then down the other.  
  
'No—’ hitch of breath, his heart was a caged bird within his chest: beating wildly against the sharp bone of Taekwoon’s shoulder. 'I mean when you pull me around like that—like you did back there.’  
  
He laughed softly. 'Yeah, I know that too.’  
  
'When we get home…’  
  
'Don’t get ahead of yourself.’  
  
But they were barely through the doorway, lights still off—pitch black with the city glow through the living room curtains—when Hongbin not only put his arms around Taekwoon’s neck, but  _crawled_  up his body, legs wound tightly about Taekwoon’s hips; and it was hard to walk like this: stumbling through darkness to reach for a light switch that didn’t seem to exist. Taekwoon had one hand braced on the small of Hongbin’s back, the other searching, searching, finding nothing, and finally, thinking:  _fuck it_ , he carried Hongbin through the apartment, relying solely on the familiarity of a house he’d lived in for years.  
  
The bedroom light was easier to find: switch it on and drop Hongbin on the bed like the weightless bundle of wound-up nerves he was, to stop in the bathroom and splash cold water on his face, wash his hands. Taekwoon stood there, shoulder to the door frame, and watched as Hongbin first wiggled out of his jeans and then his shirt, sitting in his brief shorts so small they didn’t cover the sharp jut of his hips: hard bones Taekwoon wanted to bite.  
  
Hongbin touched his inner thigh, hand ghosting between his legs; fingers dipping just beneath his waistband. Taekwoon muttered a sharp, ’ _Don’t_ ,’ and crossed his arms. 'Just lie there a minute.’  
  
So Hongbin did, but not patiently. He chewed listlessly at his lower lip, toes curled inwardly and every muscle taut in his legs. He was shivering before Taekwoon even touched him; whining low in the back of his throat when Taekwoon’s fingers brushed his stomach.  
  
'Quiet,’ Taekwoon whispered gently. He buried his face into Hongbin’s neck, inhaled old cologne and sweat, sweet and boyish and everything Hongbin was. He kissed Hongbin’s jaw, then his neck; the flutter of his pulse heavy against Taekwoon’s mouth as he parted his lips, and bit down carefully, hand moving slowly over the front of Hongbin’s body.  
  
The springs creaked when Taekwoon curled an arm around Hongbin’s back, lifting him in one smooth motion and moving him further up the mattress. Dim, sallow lights and the sound of traffic outside, Taekwoon thought about opening the window, then thought of how loud Hongbin could be; and blushing only to himself, he crawled onto the bed.  
  
Pliant and utterly boneless, Hongbin seemed to melt into the covers, head rested on pillows that lined the bed—he needed four the sleep with; always had since before Taekwoon met him. They surrounded him, swallowed him; made him smaller than he was. And the broad frame of his shoulders trembled as Taekwoon kissed them, flat tongue licking boldly over salted skin; a hand gripping either of Hongbin’s thighs tightly. It wasn’t until Hongbin hooked his fingers through Taekwoon’s belt loops that he was reminded of all the layers he still wore.  
  
But that wasn’t important now.  
  
'Turn over,’ he said; and Hongbin complied easily, soft whistle of a whimper cut short falling from his mouth as he did so. And he laid flat on his stomach, arms bunched under the pillows, under his head, face turned to the side but his eyes shut.  
  
With his hands curled into Hongbin’s shorts, Taekwoon kissed his shoulder blades, the back of his neck; goose-flesh all over Hongbin’s body as Taekwoon pulled his shorts down, one knee planted on either side of his hips. Then: down, down, mouthing at his ribs, his spine, kissing the dimples at the small of his back. Taekwoon gripped the faint curve of Hongbin’s waist, hands looking large placed on Hongbin’s small body; and he stayed there: face nuzzled against Hongbin’s skin, breathing him in like smoke.  
  
The lotion was in the nightstand, but he wouldn’t reach for it yet, too busy trying to meld himself into every crook of Hongbin’s body. Taekwoon let one hand wander, slipping it between Hongbin and the mattress he felt the wet spot already spread on the bed sheets, gently gripped the hard length of his cock and felt Hongbin jolt. He was doing well: being patient, being quiet; listening to what Taekwoon had asked him to do, but now he moaned freely, face pressed into the soft front of the pillows. Taekwoon couldn’t touch him properly with his hand pinned the way it was, but he let his fingers roam over the head of his cock, down the shaft; soft touch of fingers he knew Hongbin wished were touching him harder.  
  
'Don’t move,’ he breathed into Hongbin’s ear; and he sat up, knees placed firmly on the bed to keep Hongbin in place. Taekwoon leaned his crotch—still clothed, but dampening quickly with how hard and wet he was in his jeans—to Hongbin’s naked body. And how easy it was to grind against him—softly, of course, no need to hurt him with the hard front of his jeans; Taekwoon took his time searching for the lotion.  
  
Hongbin whined, but kept it quiet; pushed his body back to meet the slow grind of Taekwoon’s hips. He cursed lowly, breath trembling as he exhaled deeply.  
  
'Hyung—’ desperate little hitch in his tone.  
  
'I know,’ and Taekwoon  _did_  know, but he didn’t care. There were the games Hongbin liked to play, and then there were the ones Taekwoon enjoyed. He was slow as he wet his fingers: lotion thick and cold and a little hard to get out of the bottle as there wasn’t very much left. He trailed the tip of his index finger down Hongbin’s spine, teased him by first pressing the pads of his fingers to his perineum, then pushing his hand between his legs to grab his cock again. One awkward pump of his wrist, lotion spread liberally between Hongbin’s thighs, leaving him sticky and wet; he ground against the bed, full body tremors.  
  
’ _Hyung_ ,’ and his voice was shaking this time; Taekwoon took pity, but only a little.  
  
He placed the palm of his right hand firmly on the small of Hongbin’s back, held him down as he slipped a single finger into him; and unable to move, to react or cant his hips up, Hongbin instead stiffened, brought himself up on his elbows with his head hung low between his arms.  
  
Body taut, tight; Taekwoon slowly worked his finger out, pushed back in, heard Hongbin curse, and added a second. They’d been doing this for years: every part of their bodies already explored; Taekwoon knew just how much Hongbin could take, how deep he could go, and so added a third finger before Hongbin let his head fall, collapsing on the bed and straining against Taekwoon’s hard hold on him.  
  
Taekwoon leaned in, put his mouth to the shell of Hongbin’s ear, and kissing him there: he pushed his body flush to Hongbin’s own. He ground gently against the back of his own hand, timed his movement with the pump of his fingers; and it was all in the motions; in his head: to pretend he was fucking Hongbin with his cock and not his hand. Hongbin knew this trick, and loathed it; would feel the weight of Taekwoon’s body against his own and find himself on edge—every time. He groaned Taekwoon’s name quietly, pleaded, ’ _harder_ ,’ as if Taekwoon was really inside him. But that was alright, that was the whole point.  
  
Taekwoon thrust his hips harder, pushed his fingers deeper; he heard himself moan and would have been embarrassed if it wasn’t for the painful twist of knots in his stomach, the way his blood felt cold in his veins. Holding himself up with one hand on the headboard, he dropped his head, shut his eyes, and focused on the small sounds Hongbin allowed himself to make, which wasn’t very many. So: quicken his pace, work his fingers harder, spread them apart and—there it was: Hongbin falling apart beneath him. He clutched the pillows and forced his hips back and was given the freedom to move—and he must not have expected it, because Taekwoon’s fingers, already three knuckles deep, pushed harder into him, and Hongbin, trembling, cried out weakly before falling boneless back onto the bed.  
  
It happened quickly—unable to take his time anymore with the way his hands shook and the rush of blood in his ears—how Taekwoon first removed his fingers, moved off the bed, then wrapped an arm around Hongbin’s stomach. He flipped him easily: Hongbin, on his back with his knees together, shorts still halfway down his thighs. Taekwoon pulled them off as quickly as he could, felt light-headed and dizzy as he crouched on the floor beside the bed. Then: a hand on either of Hongbin’s legs, he yanked him to the foot of the bed, positioned himself between his now spread thighs, and very carefully, very hastily, took all of Hongbin’s cock into his mouth. And it was difficult: to simultaneously keep an encouraging hand on Hongbin’s inner thigh, and to try and unclasp the front of his own jeans, but he managed, though slowly, irritably. He had to pull away—for only a second—to glimpse at his fingers, make sure he had popped the button free, and in this short time Hongbin had worked a hand between his own legs, had his cock held tight between thin fingers; and he pumped himself once, twice—  
  
'No.’ Taekwoon took Hongbin’s hand away. He pretended to not notice Hongbin’s whining response, how he lifted his hips halfheartedly off the bed and thrust up into nothing, but he couldn’t ignore the pull at the back of his head: Hongbin, yanking unkindly at his hair.  
  
'Be nice,’ Taekwoon muttered, grimacing; he’d have pinned Hongbin’s hands down had he not needed his own, but all it took was a simple glare—a silent warning, though for what: neither of them really knew—and Hongbin put his hands above his head, wiggled his hips closer to the mattress’s edge. He was silent this time when Taekwoon took him into his mouth. Taekwoon: both arms hooked around the back of Hongbin’s thighs, hands gripping hard at the sharp bones of his hips; he had his mouth low on Hongbin’s cock, nose brushing against the hard, flat expanse of his stomach, and with the front of his pants now open, cock still strained, but some of the pressure relieved, Taekwoon rolled his hips forward and only felt the hard inside of the jeans. And it really wasn’t enough, didn’t take the edge off a single bit, but Hongbin was thrusting in his mouth, slowly, slowly, being wary of how small Taekwoon’s mouth was, knowing if he forced his cock deeper, Taekwoon would only pull away, tell him to fuck himself if he couldn’t be patient; and the hands in the back of Taekwoon’s hair were now gentle: touching him softly, fingers wound in his hair.  
  
Taekwoon touched a finger to Hongbin’s rim and groaned uncomfortably as Hongbin’s legs instantly closed around him: inner thighs pressed hard to either of Taekwoon’s ears, it was like he was trying to kill him. He would laugh if he didn’t have a mouthful.  
  
Then: one finger pushed in, thumb pressed hard to Hongbin’s perineum, Taekwoon hollowed his cheeks and sucked hard; felt the fluttering in his own stomach as Hongbin breathed out a strained, ’ _Oh_ —’ that immediately turned to a moan. Taekwoon looked up, looked at Hongbin, felt the tightening of every muscle in his body as he saw how spent Hongbin already was: thin layer of sweat on his thighs, his stomach; head tipped back with his neck exposed. His abdomen was flexed, ribs stark beneath his skin as he arched his back up, and really, Taekwoon could have done this all night: sucked Hongbin off until he came in his mouth, but it was the way Hongbin’s chest trembled with every breath, how his body tightened around Taekwoon’s fingers when he pushed in a second, that Taekwoon found he himself up and off his knees, jeans kicked off and discarded somewhere in the corner; cock in his hand.  
  
Hongbin spread his legs willingly, bottom lip pulled tight between his teeth; he was moaning softly, one hand holding the back of Taekwoon’s neck; and when he saw what Taekwoon was going to do, figured that it was  _really_  going to happen now: he leaned his forehead to Taekwoon’s own, whispered soft, barely coherent, words of encouragement. He told Taekwoon to fuck him, said how wet he was, how  _hard_  he was; and his hips rolled feebly with each word he spoke as if tempting Taekwoon to come closer, to touch him.  
  
And when Taekwoon pushed the head of his cock to Hongbin’s rim, Hongbin: head falling back, fingers curled painfully into the flesh of Taekwoon’s shoulders, moaned a soft, ’ _yeah_ ,’ that came out as mostly breath as if he was too weak to even speak.  
  
He was tight, hot; still wet with lotion. Taekwoon slipped in easily, whole body wracked with tremors as he tried to hold himself on legs that wouldn’t stand. The room felt hotter than it was, yellow lights blaring overhead and he wondered why he’d left them on; then looking down at Hongbin, seeing there: eyes rolled shut and hair matted to his forehead, he remembered.  
  
He grabbed Hongbin’s right leg, hooked it over his shoulder; grabbed his left and dug his fingers into the fleshy part of his thigh; and leaning down, Hongbin bowed beneath him, Taekwoon rocked his hips forward; saw sparks of light behind his closed eyes. He kept their bodies close, cock buried deep, and fucked Hongbin hard; bed creaking loudly and the headboard beating off the wall.  
  
Hongbin’s whole body rocked with Taekwoon’s thrusts; he was as weightless as he had been when they’d first come home. Both arms braced around Taekwoon’s neck, he held hard as he grew limp, letting himself be nothing more than a body under Taekwoon; and it wasn’t Taekwoon’s favorite: to have Hongbin lying so lifelessly beneath him, but he was moaning loudly, unable to keep up with Taekwoon’s thrusts, that he couldn’t blame him; knew too well that Hongbin could only keep up if he set the pace himself.  
  
’ _Taekwoonie_ —’ whining, tone high pitched and foreign— ’ _hyung, I_ —’ He was as incoherent as if he’d been drunk, but by now Taekwoon knew they’d both sobered up considerably, though Hongbin still had the faint desperation that only liquor could bring out in him. He pulled Taekwoon’s hair again, bit at his lips and licked into his mouth; he was rocking hard against Taekwoon off rhythm and a little awkwardly, spasms in his thighs like he’d burst at any given moment.  
  
'You want hyung to touch you,’ Taekwoon whispered, strained. 'Is that it?’  
  
Hongbin chewed the inside of his cheek, eyes cast downward as if considering this, but eventually: he shook his head.  
  
'Then, what?’ Taekwoon cradled the side of Hongbin’s face, kissed the corner of his mouth. 'Tell me what it is.’  
  
Very quietly, quieter than a whisper, Hongbin breathed into Taekwoon’s mouth: 'I wanna be on my knees.’  
  
This could have been taken a number of ways, but Taekwoon—suddenly cold and out of breath—knew what Hongbin meant; and with movements not nearly as smooth as they’d been before, he turned Hongbin over, and let him settle in what position was comfortable. And there he was: propped up on his elbows and knees, the small of his back bowed and his shoulder blades sharp under his skin. He pushed back, ass pressed firm to Taekwoon’s front; any embarrassment he may have felt—though Taekwoon didn’t believe Hongbin got embarrassed anymore—was gone.  
  
'Fuck me,’ he whispered.  
  
But Taekwoon touched him instead. His own cock was too hard, too wet, stomach painfully threatening an orgasm he didn’t want to have yet; so he touched Hongbin hard: hand fisted around his cock; and he moaned quietly to himself when he felt how wet Hongbin was: pre-come soaking his cock, his stomach; the sheets faintly damp where he’d lain for only a minute, and as Taekwoon kept touching, twisting his wrist and letting Hongbin thrust into his hand, fresh come dripped onto his fingers; sticky, feeling dirty, Taekwoon took a deep breath, thought he’d collapse from the throbbing in his head.  
  
Hongbin turned his head as if to speak, and Taekwoon knew what he’d say before he said it, so positioned himself; and pushed in—fast. Hongbin jolted forward, barely able to catch himself before falling on the bed, and the headboard was thumping hard against the wall again, harder than before and ridiculously loud—neither of them caring to be heard through paper-thin walls. They were used to it; the neighbors should have been too.  
  
Taekwoon kept his mouth against the side of Hongbin’s neck; breathing hard through his nose, he held himself up with one hand on the bed, the other on Hongbin’s waist. It was exhausting: his legs were in flames and all of him felt tired, even his eyes; but he didn’t lose pace, fucked Hongbin faster, deeper, until he was sobbing Taekwoon’s name, legs unable to support him anymore. He lay flat on the bed, hand trapped between his own body and the mattress; he made no effort—none at all—to move, to touch Taekwoon back; he simply laid there and let Taekwoon fuck him.  
  
Hongbin cursed, sharp in the quiet of their room, so desperate to come he was vibrating; he turned his head, tried to kiss Taekwoon’s mouth but only got his cheek. Breathing open mouthed and heavily, he begged, 'a little harder, hyung.’ And groaned, 'just— like that.’ Air forced from his lungs, he couldn’t talk—tried to, but failed; and so settled for small, quiet moans from deep in his chest.  
  
It came in waves, gradual, but heavy; Taekwoon felt the coils in his stomach catch fire, tingles that began in his feet and crawled up his legs. His toes curled, his jaw clenched; he buried his cock all the way in Hongbin’s body and rutted quickly, no time to take time, he’d already taken long enough.  
  
’ _There_ —’ Hongbin whined, 'right  _there_ — hyung, that—’ he was pulling his own hair, hugging his head and speaking against the pillows. 'that feels good—’ and his voice broke, made the chills on Taekwoon’s arms worsen, made a whimper work itself out of Taekwoon’s mouth; and this time, he was embarrassed—at least a little: by the heat in his face and how uneven his breathing was. How, if Hongbin moved just right, he was unable to stop from moaning, gripping the sheets hard and hoping he didn’t come before Hongbin did.  
  
But then: relief. Hongbin tensed and lifted his hips, though barely—he couldn’t move with Taekwoon pinning him down—and his arm moved frantically beneath him, pumping himself; and—  
  
He shouted. Called Taekwoon’s name with a sob tacked to the end, body spams that Taekwoon felt course through Hongbin and into himself. He came trying to curl in on himself but unable to, forced to lie there, gulping air into a trembling body as Taekwoon fucked him gently, not wanting to hurt him, but feeling his own orgasm building, building; fingers aching as they curled harder into the bed. He came with Hongbin’s shoulder in his mouth, came with colors bursting behind his eyes, wet eyes; he burned all over, felt limp with exhaustion.  
  
And after it all: lying there with come on his legs and Hongbin, still moaning, faintly whining, in his arms. Hongbin brushed the hair off his forehead, rubbed his eyes; he breathed deeply like he couldn’t get enough air—and maybe he couldn’t; he was still shaking.  
  
'Why do you,’ hard swallow, his mouth was a desert. Taekwoon tried again. 'Why do you like making me jealous?’  
  
Hongbin smiled at that, snuggled closer. 'I don’t know, hyung. You look nice when you’re all, you know.’ He made a face that answered absolutely none of Taekwoon’s questions. Then he laughed, buried himself into Taekwoon’s neck. 'When you’re mad. You look nice when you’re mad.’  
  
This might have irritated anyone else, would have irritated Taekwoon had he not just come, but with his arm around Hongbin’s firm shoulders, his breath—warm, always warm—against his neck, he could only roll his eyes, scoff; and maybe he laughed. Just a little.


End file.
